Torture of the Mind
by Naril
Summary: What if someone has to endure more than he can take? What if the memories are unbearable even for a strong spirit? What if he is Arthur's righthand knight? Slight AU inspired by the legends of King Arthur and Lancelot of the Lake. ON HIATUS
1. Prologue

My First KA-ff plz dont kill me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the way I put the words together. The incident is inspired by the legend of the Knights of the Round Table and I merely transferred it into the 'King Arthur' film-version-world (… I hate to do this.)

Summary: What if someone has to endure more than he can take? What if the memories are unbearable even for a strong spirit? What if he is Arthur's right-hand knight? Slight AU inspired by the legends of King Arthur and Lancelot of the Lake.

Rating: NC-17

WARNING: will contain violence in form of torture. NO rape.

_**Prologue**_

It was dark in the dungeon apart from weak rays of the sun's light through some of the small holes caused by the aging of the merciless building. No sound except for low whimpers and moans of the rotting and dying behind iron doors. There was nothing to say in this place of death and hell.

Only one of the prisoners sat in the corner of his foul cell, murmuring nonsense while his wrists became even bloodier from rubbing them against the cruel chains which held him to the cold stones. If one looked close enough, it was possible to see that he had once been a handsome young man, but now that his beard was growing without being trimmed, covering his hollow face along with dust and dirt and his dark curls clung soiled to his head he resembled more a dark beast than a noble man. This, however, was proven by the remains of his black leather clothing. His name was not to be known. He never talked to anyone who entered the cell.

The guards simply called him werewolf. Since he had bitten one of them they thought it even more appropriate. Often he was the topic of their conversations in their favourite tavern. The most frequently asked question was how it came that he 'went nuts'. For no one ever doubted his madness. All of the men had seen his wide black eyes, flickering in the shadows, staring at them bloodthirsty and then he would snarl at them in a strange tongue that sounded as if from the Far East of the Empire.

Some guards remembered the first day of his imprisonment. He had made fun of them, insulted their master, the Empire and even their god. But soon a master-torturer from Rome had arrived and the prisoner spoke no more.

Since then he sat in the cell talking to himself, screaming in his sleep. Sometimes he would bang his head against the stones behind him and the guards would have to prevent him from further injuring himself by order of the master. He had told them to keep him alive as long as possible so that the pagan may admit his sins.

Every fortnight a priest was sent into his cell. Every fortnight the guards would hear the screams, the yelling and in between the priest's humming prayers. After hours of this, the priest would come out of the prison, shaking his head in despair but some of the guards would swear when asked that there was a satisfied spark in his dull grey eyes. Some also thought the bundle he always carried with him very suspicious. Never had he revealed its contents. "The demon is still inside him." he used to say whenever he left the dungeon, "I shall be back in two weeks."

And then when dawn came and one of the guards brought old bread and water to the heathen prisoner, he would retreat into the deepest shadow of the cell and if the guards came too close, he would attack them, biting and scratching like the wolf they thought he was.

That is why they chained him to the wall, although his screaming at night became even more desperate.

tbc but only if people review PLEASE!


	2. Chapter 1

Thanks to everyone who's reading this. I'm really sorry this is a short chap but i'm moving houses soon and im actually happy to even post this.

KnightGuardian: wow a loyal reader? I'm honoured lol. And yes i have updated so i hope you're happy now. What happened? Well just keep reading You'll see

Sarito04: I plan to reveal the time in chapter two and i already did it in rough but i'm not sure how long it's gonna takeme to post it. And you know, to find out why he's there... there's just one option ;)

Julia: I think this chap answers the question about getting saved. Yes, well...the priest he's a nasty little bugger and will appear lateron. Go nuts? No one insane person is enough for this story lol

**_Chapter 1- Blinded by Pain_**

A sudden noise echoed through the stone walls as the door at the end of the corridor broke and fell loudly to the floor. The first that welcomed the two figures standing in the blinding beam of light was the sickening smell of decay and excrements. They hesitated for a brief moment. What would await them down there?

The first to move was a blonde-haired man with a firm face. He made a step into the dungeon overwhelmed by the reeking and the silence. Cat-sized rats fled from the light of his torch and he shook his head sighing. "Come on Bors. Let's see what is to find." His plump companion slowly obeyed, his eyes full of the despair the other man felt.

"If we find him, I doubt he will be alive after all this time in such a bloody hole." he commented before they moved on, checking each cell for a familiar face. At last they stood before the furthest door and the large knight handed the keys for one last time to the other. "Was I a Christian I would pray now." The warrior said taking them. His friend only laid a hand on his shoulder as the key clicked in its lock. They froze for a moment as the clattering of chains could be heard. Quickly they threw open the door, facing whatever was behind it.

They were terrified at the sight of the man hanging in the chains which held his limp form to the wall. He had clearly tried to free himself, the dark dried blood on his forearms told them of many futile attempts. But what frightened them the most were the dull black eyes underneath dirty dark curls which looked up at the two knights without any sign of recognition.

Gawain's eyes flew over the tattered garments and the skeletal body revealed by them. He swallowed hard. "Sweet goddess…" he whispered hopelessly and wanted to approach his half-dead brother-in-arms. But as soon as he moved closer the wretched figure in front of him drew back against the wall, whimpering weakly.

"Lancelot?" the other knight came forth, causing the prisoner to shudder and to press himself against the cold stones even more. Only then, when he turned his back slightly at them, the blonde Sarmatian could see the full extent of his suffering. There were half-healed gashes there some still red, others already of a paler colour. Slowly he took a step closer while he began to speak to the wasted man in their mother-tongue.

"It's alright, it is me Gawain. We'll get you out of here." he soothed him and, as he noticed that the shivering calmed away, he reached out a hand to gently place it on a withered shoulder. He felt himself tense as the once brave knight looked up at him, fear written all over his gaunt features. The dry lips formed words but he could not speak. A wince escaped him when the knights freed him of his throbbing bonds and one of them bent down to cradle him up into corpulent arms.

Bors grimaced when he felt the little weight of the fragile body and the bones almost piercing through dirt-encrusted skin. Under all this he could barely see the man's face. There were only his eyes. The knight shivered at the sight. He was stared at by two black orbs of glass. Only the tremors that ran through the emaciated body showed them that there was still life in him. "Let's get him out of this nightmare." Gawain said recollecting the torch and leading the way back to the entrance.

Both men knew that it would not be this simple to free their friend's wits from the dusk. Both had seen the lifeless dark eyes.

tbc ...


	3. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Two-Language of Torment_**

The Commander of the Sarmatian knights stood waiting for his men in the courtyard. Next to him a fat men rubbed his sweaty neck. "I assure you again that the two pagans you speak of never arrived here. They surely were killed on the way through the woods." "We will see, my lord Aurelius…we will see." His opponent only said as two figures appeared through the mist of dawn. One of whom carried something wrapped into a cloak.

When Arthur first saw Bors and his burden, he did not recognise his best friend. Lancelot had never been a man whom one could associate with weakness. Even if injured the knight would always try to save his pride. Never had he allowed someone to carry him even if he would be barely conscious. The commander remembered him limping with a broken leg back into the fortress after a scouting mission on his own, refusing anyone who tried to help him.

But when he saw him now, there was nothing left of the Sarmatian warrior. No bravery, no hiding of pain. The man Bors was carrying forth did not resemble their comrade in anything. The Roman would not even be sure it really was him if he had not seen the ripped clothing made of black leather.

He stepped in closer disregarding the smell of dirt and decay to look down into the freed man's face.

Something inside of him twisted as he met lifeless dark eyes, the familiar fire in them lost. Underneath all the dirt and dried blood he saw a wretched stranger not the knight who had fought by his side for nine long years. Bors tightened his grip when Lancelot started shivering. For a moment Arthur hesitated. The man looked scared by his presence, eyes begging for escape. His dry, lips, blue of coldness, muttered something the Roman could not understand but Gawain and Bors both spoke to him in their tongue, comforting their comrade. Slowly his eyes slid closed and consciousness seemed to leave him fully.

Arthur's jaw tightened clearly fighting for composure. "What did they do to him?" He turned around to the fat Roman lord. The large man drew back at the furious green eyes. "He offended the holy father and the church. Only if he admitted his sins he would have been set free. As he would not obey the priest saw the demon which inhabits him and…" He stopped as Excalibur was drawn from its scabbard. "If I ever see you again, I shall have your head…" both men grew quiet when a sudden moan was heard behind them. Arthur looked at the figure in Bors' secure arms who struggled against his hold, sobbing against the bald knight's chest. Again Lancelot pleaded in Sarmatian but the tone was unmistakable. Fear. So much fear in this hoarse voice. Arthur swallowed hard, frozen where he stood.

"What does this mean?" he whispered, not taking his eyes of the dark knight. "He is delirious, Arthur…It's…" "I don't care whether it doesn't make sense or not! Just tell me what he says!"

"He…is begging…" Gawain shook his head despairingly, "begging…to leave him be…only for one day…so that he may find the horses." Bors looked up worried as Gawain did not speak on, to meet his commander's gaze. "He says……that they await him."

Behind them Dagonet and Tristan appeared. The taller of them only shot one glance at the limp man, who was still shedding silent tears of pain. The bald knight then stepped closer, lowering his rough hand gently onto his feeble fellow-knight's forehead. He then took him of Bors who only nodded agreeing.

"He is burning up with fever. We have no time to waste." he said. Quickly the others moved to get the horses and to find some more blankets to keep their shivering friend warm.

Arthur was left alone. Nothing he could do. He was the commander, an expert when it came to politics and fighting but in this moment…He felt helpless and there was but one experience in his life when he had ever felt like this. The voice of his mother was still clear in his ears.

Now it was his best friend, the knight who was like a brother to him who he could not help. He had seen the other's fear. What had they done to the proud man to make him this vulnerable? He did not dare to think about it.


	4. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Three-Waking from the Shadows_**

They had decided to make camp when night fell. Not only because they should rest for another hard days journey, but because the fever and shivering of their fellow-knight had gotten worse.

Dagonet sat with the trembling form. The big Knight again reached out to calm the delirious man with a hand on his bony shoulder. A look at the sweat-coated face of his friend told him enough about his state.

Although his gaunt features were still covered in dirt, it was not enough to hide the translucent

skin and the pale blue lips, slightly open as he panted for every breath. Dagonet knew he would not make it for long if they did not reach the Wall as soon as by tomorrow.

Suddenly someone laid a hand on his broad shoulder. Dagonet looked up only to see the sharp eyes of their scout looking at their fallen comrade. Without a word the silent man handed his blanket to the other man.

"For him. Gonna need it." Tristan said quietly an unfamiliar worried expression on his face. He sat down cross-legged next to Dagonet and watched him covering their friend with this third mantle.

"How is he?" He finally asked after a short silence. Dagonet only stared at him for a short moment. Wondering why Tristan finally broke out of his shell. But then again it was none of his business.

"He needs to eat. I don't know for how long he has been starving but he looks near to death to me." Again his statement was followed by the familiar silence between them.

Both their eyes rested on the miserable remains of the proud Lancelot. His breathing was even shallower then before and the big man quickly checked his pulse and found it pounding too rapidly. He could not suppress a sigh, his gaze wandering over the hastily applied bandages, covering the worst of the many injuries.

Tristan had watched him closely, his eyes following the others every movement. "Why don't we wake him then?" He finally said, whilst standing up. "We can try but…" Dagonet murmured although the scout was already gone. He sighed and watched Arthur sitting on the other side of the fire starring at the shivering form of his best friend.

He did not dare to come near him any longer. The look in these eyes had told him enough. He had lost his dear friend. All he could do was hope that it would not be forever. He would have to pray again, he thought.

A small smile crept onto his face. He could almost hear Lancelot laughing at him. When the commander realised he was being watched he nodded at his knight before he rose to his feet and walked away.

Dagonet looked back to check on their weak comrade but raised his head when he felt someone step next to him. Tristan wordlessly knelt down holding up a cup with a bit of broth. "He won't make it unless we get this into him." he explained, only saying as much as needed to avoid frightening their delirious brother in arms.

The other knight nodded but only hesitantly reached out a hand to shake their fever- troubled friend lightly although he knew it would be useless.

Therefore he gently reached under the limp man's shoulders and lifted him so he was slumped against his broad chest.

Tristan only waited while Dagonet again made an attempt in waking their brother-knight. His rough hand lightly tapped the fever- flushed cheek, hoping not to startle him but only bring him back to consciousness.

When there was no reaction, he hit him with a little more force, trying to avoid the bruising. Sighing he looked up to the scout but found him gaze at the hunched form he held. Slowly but with rising hope he looked down again, only to allow a small smile of relief appear on his face.

Half hidden under dirt-covered eyelids, two dull dark eyes looked up at him. The expression in them was simply tired and beaten. With a sudden shock he realised that Lancelot was trembling with fear but too weak to even move his hand. He was waiting for whatever they would do to him.

"Don't fear."

At this the glassy eyes opened a bit further. Hoping to have finally managed to make him recognise them Dagonet decided to speak again.

"You must eat or you will die!" he said with urgency but still the frail man only stared at him.

Tristan moved closer quietly and the dark eyes flicked towards him, again accompanied by a shiver running through the defenceless body. The scout did not hesitate at this but handing the bowl to the other knight, reached for something hidden in his pocket.

Slowly as not to startle him he took one pale quivering hand in his and put the little something into the ill Sarmatian's grasp, a barely recognisable smile tilting his thin lips.

"I thought you might want it back." He said, closing the other's trembling fingers around the lion-shaped pendant.

Those feverish dark eyes looked up at him gratefully it seemed. The feeble man opened his mouth. However, no sound left his scratched lips but a dry cough that shook his wasted frame.

He did not resist as Tristan again took the bowl and held it to his lips, slowly feeding the content to him.

The scout did not draw back when he saw how greedily Lancelot gulped the little food given to him and nearly choked on it twice. He had guessed it would be so anyway.


	5. Chapter 4

_hello again... sorry peeps but I'm really stuck with this one. I may just change it to snippets of the story because I have a major blockade here...I mean I can't even write on my original novel anymore. It's all 'stupid' men and more newly discovered interesting characters._

_Reno: LIKE ME! coming running in from the garden_

_Kadaji: and ME! coming running out of Naril's closet_

_Naril: See what I mean?_

_Reno: Hey what do you mean? I'm a great muse!_

_Kadaji: NO! I'm sooo much better than him! I mean, I'm Sephiroth's new special edition!_

_Reno: Nah! You're just some clone who can't accept he came of a tube and therefore ain't got a mother._

_Kadaji: NO! MOTHER! attacks Reno with sword_

_Reno: tries to hide behind Naril help me!_

_Naril: sigh_

_Box: rumblemoveknock_

_Naril: What's that?_

_Reno and Kadaji: innocent puppy eyes erm..._

_Naril: WHAT IS THAT?_

_Reno:... well,... you see...we figured that...elves and knights are kinda...old fashioned..._

_Kadaji: ...so... we decided to lock them in there until you wrote something about us..._

_Reno: AND...Iswallowedthekey_

_Naril: You what?_

_Reno: sweats ...eh... funny story that... I kinda... _

_Kadaji: He swallowed the key!_

_Reno: points at Kadaji BUT he MADE me!_

_Naril: sigh help..._

* * *

_The first one to guess where these two muses come from... gets the next chapter sent before everyone else... hehe...but you still need to review! lol_

**_Chapter Three-Waking from the Shadows_**

They had decided to make camp when night fell. Not only because they should rest for another hard days journey, but because the fever and shivering of their fellow-knight had gotten worse.

Dagonet sat with the trembling form. The big Knight again reached out to calm the delirious man with a hand on his bony shoulder. A look at the sweat-coated face of his friend told him enough about his state.

Although his gaunt features were still covered in dirt, it was not enough to hide the translucent

skin and the pale blue lips, slightly open as he panted for every breath. Dagonet knew he would not make it for long if they did not reach the Wall as soon as by tomorrow.

Suddenly someone laid a hand on his broad shoulder. Dagonet looked up only to see the sharp eyes of their scout looking at their fallen comrade. Without a word the silent man handed his blanket to the other man.

"For him. Gonna need it." Tristan said quietly an unfamiliar worried expression on his face. He sat down cross-legged next to Dagonet and watched him covering their friend with this third mantle.

"How is he?" He finally asked after a short silence. Dagonet only stared at him for a short moment. Wondering why Tristan finally broke out of his shell. But then again it was none of his business.

"He needs to eat. I don't know for how long he has been starving but he looks near to death to me." Again his statement was followed by the familiar silence between them.

Both their eyes rested on the miserable remains of the proud Lancelot. His breathing was even shallower then before and the big man quickly checked his pulse and found it pounding too rapidly. He could not suppress a sigh, his gaze wandering over the hastily applied bandages, covering the worst of the many injuries.

Tristan had watched him closely, his eyes following the others every movement. "Why don't we wake him then?" He finally said, whilst standing up. "We can try but…" Dagonet murmured although the scout was already gone. He sighed and watched Arthur sitting on the other side of the fire starring at the shivering form of his best friend.

He did not dare to come near him any longer. The look in these eyes had told him enough. He had lost his dear friend. All he could do was hope that it would not be forever. He would have to pray again, he thought.

A small smile crept onto his face. He could almost hear Lancelot laughing at him. When the commander realised he was being watched he nodded at his knight before he rose to his feet and walked away.

Dagonet looked back to check on their weak comrade but raised his head when he felt someone step next to him. Tristan wordlessly knelt down holding up a cup with a bit of broth. "He won't make it unless we get this into him." he explained, only saying as much as needed to avoid frightening their delirious brother in arms.

The other knight nodded but only hesitantly reached out a hand to shake their fever- troubled friend lightly although he knew it would be useless.

Therefore he gently reached under the limp man's shoulders and lifted him so he was slumped against his broad chest.

Tristan only waited while Dagonet again made an attempt in waking their brother-knight. His rough hand lightly tapped the fever- flushed cheek, hoping not to startle him but only bring him back to consciousness.

When there was no reaction, he hit him with a little more force, trying to avoid the bruising. Sighing he looked up to the scout but found him gaze at the hunched form he held. Slowly but with rising hope he looked down again, only to allow a small smile of relief appear on his face.

Half hidden under dirt-covered eyelids, two dull dark eyes looked up at him. The expression in them was simply tired and beaten. With a sudden shock he realised that Lancelot was trembling with fear but too weak to even move his hand. He was waiting for whatever they would do to him.

"Don't fear."

At this the glassy eyes opened a bit further. Hoping to have finally managed to make him recognise them Dagonet decided to speak again.

"You must eat or you will die!" he said with urgency but still the frail man only stared at him.

Tristan moved closer quietly and the dark eyes flicked towards him, again accompanied by a shiver running through the defenceless body. The scout did not hesitate at this but handing the bowl to the other knight, reached for something hidden in his pocket.

Slowly as not to startle him he took one pale quivering hand in his and put the little something into the ill Sarmatian's grasp, a barely recognisable smile tilting his thin lips.

"I thought you might want it back." He said, closing the other's trembling fingers around the lion-shaped pendant.

Those feverish dark eyes looked up at him gratefully it seemed. The feeble man opened his mouth. However, no sound left his scratched lips but a dry cough that shook his wasted frame.

He did not resist as Tristan again took the bowl and held it to his lips, slowly feeding the content to him.

The scout did not draw back when he saw how greedily Lancelot gulped the little food given to him and nearly choked on it twice. He had guessed it would be so anyway.

* * *

_homeric: yes, he is indeed having a hard time. bad enough that i'm not sure how to get the man back tonormal_

_Jemuil: Great to see you're still following this...yeah i hope i can keep up the work ...ehe... sweatdrop looks at muses i REALLY hope so._


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